Spring Tide

by K. Dicke

  “Sourdough!”

  She smiled. “I like that you call me that.”

  I pointed to his closed bedroom door. “He around?”

  “Sleeping.”

  Must be nice. His schedule was so flexible it was obscene. He surfed whenever, slept whenever, put in a few hours at the docks whenever, randomly took off for Maine. If he didn’t have a lockbox full of tools in the back of his truck, I’d swear he didn’t have a job.

  “I’ve been a little concerned about him.” I sat across from her. “He’s been watching the gulf like a big whale’s gonna jump out and eat us all. I mean, I know surfers do this but he’s really contemplative or anxious or something. It’s … subnormal.”

  She refilled her glass. “Jason hasn’t had the easiest life. Watching the water and surfing is how he manages himself, how he revives his will. He’s okay. Between you and me, he’s a worrier, always has been.”

  I looked at the book. “What’s that? It looks—”

  “It’s a crazy historical account about a society of superhumans with magical powers, imagine that!” She closed it. “Ha! Love it!”

  “Cool.” Julia’s a little nutty today.

  Her husband, Donovan, walked through the room and kind of nodded to me.

  She touched my elbow. “Jason told me about your plans for fall. I’d really like it if you stayed with us once your roommate leaves. I know you can take care of yourself, but I don’t like the idea of you being all alone, and I’d love the company. You could save for school.”

  I repeated her words in my head. “It’s very nice of you to offer, but I, uh, wouldn’t feel right about living with you. I’d feel like I was taking advantage. And I’ve made other arrangements.”

  “That’s fine. Donovan and I just wanted you to know that you’re more than welcome here.”

  “Thanks. Wanna bake some soda bread?”

  “With raisins?”

  “You know it.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Your sculpture is coming along beautifully.” She touched a barb.

  “We connected.”

  Her hands clamped on to his elbows. “Have you been with her? You tell me right now if you’ve compromised her! Damn it, Jason!”

  “I have not been with her! She isn’t obsessed, comes out of it quickly. This isn’t anything like Rachel. We have connection. She has sight. We’ve started having the dream.” He pulled away. “Everything’s backward.”

  She walked around the twisted metal in the middle of the garage. “Why do you think she has sight if she’s not aware?”

  “She reacts. I know she sees it. I’m trying to control it but I’ve never had to do that before.”

  “That would be difficult. The indication, then connection, then the dream—the progression is all out of order. Why? On one hand you shouldn’t be involved with her at all, but on the other there’s Devon.” She tapped her finger on her lips. “Hmmm. If you’re connected to her and she has sight for you, then you’re the best avenue to bringing her around.”

  “You just got all over my ass for kissing her.”

  “Appropriate contact. Stay close to her, sleep next to her. Your proximity alone may do the trick.”

  He clapped once and put his palms up. “If I sleep in the same bed with her she’ll have the dream.”

  “I’ll give you the words to stop it. She won’t be cognizant she’s having it, but you will, allowing the process to continue.”

  “Neat.”

  “What does she like?”

  “She likes it when I run my fingers through her hair.”

  “Then we’ll work it that way.”

  _______

  I couldn’t find any scissors. I didn’t need scissors, but needed to know where they were.

  “There’s something about him that’s not right.” I said to Sarah, who was sitting at the island.

  “Awww! But he’s so nice to look at. And he puts up with Nick. And he has great teeth. What about our weekly card game?”

  The four of us had something of a card club going on Sunday afternoons the previous three weeks. Competition had arisen between Jericho and me, but when it came down to the final hand, victory was mine. His irritation grew with each defeat and I was thoroughly enjoying it.

  “Let me ask you this. When you first saw Jericho, would you’ve put him in the same class with me as far as looks go?” I snapped my fingers and pointed at her. “I knew it. He’s way too hot and it’s painfully obvious when other girls see me with him.”

  “That’s not what I was thinking. You’re analyzing again. You can’t do that.”

  “But you and Nick are a physically perfect match.”

  “Really? Thanks! Is that it though? That’s the issue? He’s too hot, you poor thing.” She covered her eyes. “Oh no! He can’t kiss. The truly hot always have some drawback.”

  “He totally can. He rarely goes for the French kiss—”

  “Y’all’ve been going out for weeks. What were you doing all those nights at his house?”

  “Not much. Sarah, he barely lays hands on me. He touches my hair, face, arms … puts his hand on my stomach sometimes, but as far as north or south of that, nothin’.” I checked the junk drawer again. “Weird, right?”

  “Very. Wait, did you tell him about Joshua?”

  “I talked about Joshua but didn’t give him details.”

  “Well, maybe he’s trying to be sensitive to that.”

  “Here’s the other thing. He has the most erratic job schedule ever. He takes off on short notice all the time, and when he’s gone he doesn’t pick up his phone, doesn’t call for days. Now I’ll be the first to admit I know nothing about commercial fishing—”

  “You think he’s got a girl in Maine?”

  “I don’t know what I think.” I didn’t know how to express that there were too many things I didn’t understand about him, and much more than the glow I thought I saw in his eyes.

  She took hold of my wrist, stopping me from rummaging through a cupboard. “Jericho hangs on every word you say, watches everything you do. He’s not seeing someone else. This is new to you so take my word for it. Oh my goodness, it’s six! Go get ready! Right now! I’ll find a lip gloss that’s in your color wheel!”

  I went back to my room and changed into a retro, dark green sheath that stopped above my knees and actually made my body look curvy. Sarah had personal shopped it for me because I had nothing. I smiled, remembering how she’d clapped and jumped around, had gone into a big ol’ monologue about trends and accessories, both notable and unfortunate when I’d asked her to find me something to wear for that night. I would’ve given anything to see a CAT scan of her brain activity right then, neurons firing in all directions in every shade of the spectrum.

  After a minute, she came in and started on the ninety thousand tiny buttons that ran up the back of the dress. After fretting over my hair, she finally decided on a headband, covered my entire person with hairspray, and whipped out mascara. Jericho knocked on the door as the final coat was being applied, and then he and I left for dinner.

  I was seated to his right at a table dimly lit by candles at The Landing, one of Corpus’s best restaurants. If he’d taken me there because he felt guilty for having dogged me the previous three days I didn’t care. I’d really been wanting to check the place out.

  I took him in, his sport coat, his hair pulled back, and the only word that came to mind was “virile.”

  He looked me over. “Who are you?”

  “I know. It’s like we’re grownups or something.”

  “I think we’ve both been grown up for a long time, but I was talking about your dress. You’re kind of a tomboy. That’s something I’ve always really liked about you.” He turned his water glass on the table. “I think what I’m trying to say is that you look so beautiful.”

  “Thank you, gorgeous.” I winked at him.

  The waitress cleared our dessert plates.

  He leaned over, kissed my ch
eek, and put a box wrapped in blue paper in front of me. “Happy birthday.”

  “You didn’t have to get me anything.” I stopped picking at the tape. “How’d you know?”

  “Sarah.”

  I’d made her promise no surprise parties or stripper-grams or a special spa day in my honor, thereby ruining her life. So instead she told everybody, polished my nails, and had probably strenuously recommended The Landing to Jericho.

  I crumpled up the gift wrap and set it to the side. “She made me eat birthday cake for breakfast in my bed—”

  “That’s kickin’! So is there any left or it was one of those individual cakes?”

  “Tons left, all for you.”

  Inside the box was a flat, pale green pendant, oval in shape, two inches long and an inch wide that dangled from a long, thin gold chain.

  “It’s—”

  I held it up to the light and checked the patina. “I know what it is. It’s sea glass. This color’s hard to find and it’s old.”

  “How’d you know that?”

  “I read a lot when you’re in Maine or surfing and there’s a book about sea glass on the second shelf in your living room.”

  “I found that glass in Costa Rica, no Puerto Rico, when I was eleven and,” he put the chain around my neck, the pendant falling to the hollow between my breasts, “it always brought me good luck. Anyway, I ran across it a while back and had it mounted for you. It matches your eyes.”

  “If it’s lucky will it keep jellyfish away?”

  “Actually it will.”

  “Then I’ll never take it off.” I glanced up to see a man standing to my left. Mid-thirties, dark curly hair, a sad excuse for a goatee, wearing the standard chef uniform. I was disappointed he didn’t do the puffy hat. Nobody did, but I would’ve.

  “Hey, Jermaine,” Jericho looked from him to me. “This is Kris.”

  “Jericho tells me you worked at La Maison in Austin,” he said with a thick Louisiana accent.

  “For a few years.” I shook his hand.

  “What was your station?”

  “I assisted the sous chef, did a lot of prep, salads.”

  His questioning continued regarding what I’d ordered and my opinions on its presentation and flavor. It felt like a pop quiz.

  “Come by Monday at two and we’ll talk.” He moved on to the next table.

  What just happened? I held up my hand to Jericho, asking for explanation.

  “His goatee is heinous, I know.”

  I shook my head. “Not that. How does he know my résumé?”

  “I see him at the fish market every so often. Last week, he was complaining about his staff so I thought of you.”

  I sat forward. “You think of me when people complain?”

  “No, I thought you’d like the opportunity. But seriously, have you ever seen a worse goatee?”

  “I’m trying to imagine Donovan with a goatee like that.” I folded my napkin. “And what Julia’d say about it.”

  “Nothin’ good. Julia likes Don as he is. He’s got a nice beard.”

  “He does. You know what’s weird? Whenever I see Donovan, I get this strange feeling like … I dunno, like he’s been in my dreams.”

  “Sexy dreams? Kidding. That reminds me, Julia told me she offered you a room at my house, but said you’d already found something?”

  “Yeah. I’m all set.”

  “Where?”

  “The Black’s cottage.”

  “Nick’s? After this summer, the place should be condemned.”

  “It’s not so bad,” I lied.

  “Well, you’ll only be two houses down the beach. But, Kris, if you stay with us you don’t have to share a room with me. There’s a spare off the kitchen. You could try it out for a week or two …”

  I ran my fingers over the sea glass.

  “You like it?”

  “The necklace? I love it.”

  He smiled, took care of the check, rose, and pulled out my chair for me.

  On the drive home I said very little. I was sorting through my feelings about my housing situation and Jermaine’s summons. After I’d made bouillabaisse, Jericho had asked me why I didn’t work at The Landing or Tonya’s, since both were more in line with my previous work at La Maison. The answer was simple: there weren’t any openings. I’d been checking all summer, and as far as I knew, there still weren’t any openings.

  He walked me into my building. Coming out of the elevator, I pulled my sweater around my shoulders, the North Pole having annexed the hallway again. He dropped my hand, took my keys from my pinky, and quickly walked ahead.

  “Dude?” I tried to catch up.

  “Bad feeling.”

  As he turned the knob, Sylvia’s door opened and the demon that visited her came out. His gray hair and white shirt were tainted yellow under the lights, his shaded eyes on Jericho. Jericho grabbed my waist, shoved me behind his body, and raised his right palm toward Joel. I was pushed into my condo with his left hand and the door closed at my heels. I looked through the peephole and saw nothing but the back of Jericho’s jacket distorted by curved glass. Before I could react, the door opened, flinging me against the wall. I hit the floor.

  He set me on my feet, turned away, and rested against the door, his forehead on his arm. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

  “I’m okay. What was that about? Do you know Joel? Why’d you put your hand up to him like that?”

  “Joel?” He faced me, his head tilted left and forward. “You know him? Talk to him?”

  What’s this about? “I asked you first.”

  “No, you tell me.”

  “I know of him.”

  “How long has he been around? How many times have you seen him?”

  “A few.”

  “How long?”

  “I don’t know, a couple months.”

  His eyes widened. “Months? Who lives next door?”

  “Sylvia. I help her out sometimes. She’s an alcoholic. Wait, how do you know him?”

  “You, you and Sarah, need to stay away from him, stay away from her. You don’t hear his voice and you don’t let him touch you. Do not let him touch you.” He brought me to the couch. “I know Joel by another name from another place. He’s a con man, can talk to you into doing anything he wants.”

  “I’m sure.”

  His eyes drilled mine. “He. Will. Butcher. Your. Soul.”

  My skin thinned. “You’re scaring me.”

  “Good. I want you to be scared.”

  “What did you say to him?”

  “I made it clear I don’t want to see him around, the same as I’m begging you to stay the hell away from him.”

  “What about Sylvia? She needs someone to help her.” I sat up straight. “Is he doing something to her?”

  He stared at the wall and agitation built with every tick of the clock.

  “Jericho?”

  Another thirty seconds passed.

  “I’ll talk to the guy that works the security desk downstairs, you know, the big dude,” he finally said.

  “Arnold.”

  “I’ll ask him to look in on her, let him know about Joel, his history.”

  “You’re holding back. What’s he doing to Sylvia?”

  He got up and went to the balcony doors. “Sylvia’s not my concern—you are.”

  “But Arnold’s not gonna do her dishes or feed her cat.”

  He turned on his heel. “Can’t you see how compulsive you are? Are you doing her dishes for your comfort or hers? Damn, Kris, I can’t walk away from a glass of iced tea without finding it in the sink ten seconds later. It makes me nuts that you do that!”

  “You fold my jeans and put them at the foot of the bed when I spend the night! Who’s obsessive?” But he was right. Sylvia’s welfare was more important than her condo being clean. “I’ve been helping her out because I don’t know what else to do for her and don’t know what to do with myself right now. I’m changing my clothes.”
I turned and went up the hall.

  “Hey, Kris?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Can I stay? Julia and Donovan are celebrating their anniversary tonight. They need space to get wild.”

  “Why’d you have to say that? Aw man, I’ve got a picture in my head now. Oh! And the beard … ” I walked to my room, internally convulsing.

  I looked over my left shoulder and then my right at the mirror behind me, my hands grasping for the impossible. I tried to pull it over my head. There was no way I could get out of the dress by myself, my arms unable to bend that far up and back to undo the pearly buttons.

  I stuck my head out of the bathroom door. “Little help?”

  He appeared behind me and unfastened them, his eyes chained to mine in the mirror until the last one was undone. His chin moved my hair to the side and his lips trailed down the back of my neck. He slid the dress from my shoulders and it fell to the floor as his mouth came over my shoulder blade. My body warmed and my eyes became heavy, months of anticipation welling up inside. Bring me to the surface. His palms drifted down my arms to my wrists, dropped and firmly came up the backs of my legs to my waist. He turned me around and sat me on the counter.

  “I need you, Kris,” he whispered.

  “I’m yours.”

  Never did I dream that the song lyrics that ran through my head all day would manifest in my subconscious and exit my mouth. I’m all yours, baby! But he looked at me like I’d said the most meaningful thing in the world.

  His tongue slid over mine, skimming my teeth, and I waited for him to pull away. He didn’t. His hands slipped through my hair and came around my neck so he could kiss me more deeply. I unbuttoned his shirt and wrapped my legs around him, bringing his body flush to mine as his hand came up my back and unhooked my bra. Thirty seconds of desire ignited inside me, fueled by him—how he felt, sounded, and smelled. But like it had been before, I sank beneath the waves, suffused in golden skin and a strong body.